The CSec Reports: Business Rivals
by CalicoJack3218
Summary: Garrus Vakarian is recruited from behind his pile of paperwork by an old warhorse of C-Sec to look into brutal volus deaths on the Citadel's Zakera Ward. It's no secret that volus business practice is cutthroat, but there's more to this than just credits.


_**Disclaimer:** This story is not canon in any way, shape or form. While we all wish we could own Garrus, he belongs to Bioware. The characters not taken from the game are my own invention, but everything here is property of Bioware and should be treated as such._

**The C-Sec Reports - "****Business Rivals"**

**i.**

"Have I mentioned how much I hate paperwork?" Garrus sighed as a C-Sec runner deposited another pile of datapads on his desk and then hastily departed.

"This is the fourth time, sir," grunted the young turian sitting at the desk opposite. "It's these reports or a grilling from Chellick. I'll take the reports."

Garrus grinned, remember how intimidated he himself had been when he'd first come face to face with the stalwart Detective. This youngster helping him with his reams of bureaucracy - a recent C-Sec recruit by the name of Nalrad – had been assigned to Garrus to give him a feel of how the organisation worked and to 'improve active cohesion in an optimized workspace' as the memo from the higher-ups had suggested. Garrus didn't mind; his new shadow was Citadel-born, enthusiastic, intelligent and had an edge of determination – he would pick up the necessaries of C-Sec swiftly. Though Garrus did question the judgement of his own superiors, placing one natural hothead under the guidance of another.

"Chellick isn't so bad once you get used to ignoring him," Garrus assured Nalrad. "Eventually he gets bored of blowing hot air in your direction."

"Yeah? Well he scares the hash'nat out of _me._"

Garrus laughed aloud at the youngster's vulgar term. "If you think Chellick's a terror, you wait until you meet the Executor!" Nalrad looked up with such a mortified expression that Garrus added; "Don't worry. He never comes down this far into the Academy. Says it smells too 'human."

Nalrad's mandibles opened as he took in a snort of the stale air. "It does, a bit. D'you think humans know that they stink like that?"

"No, and _don't_ tell them," Garrus warned, "It's hard enough having to deal with offended hanar all over the place."

Restless, Garrus abandoned the slew of orange screens and took to pacing the office, working the kinks out of his limbs as he peered out of the narrow window. Darkness was beginning to envelop the circular shaft of elevators and official floors as officers and detectives left for the 'night.' High above, the Presidium would be moving into its night phase, the hologram adjusting discreetly to portray a velvet black sky filled with stars and the soft lights coming on around the lakes and sculptures.

"I just don't see the point of all this red tape!" Garrus complained suddenly to the still industriously-working Nalrad, making the youngster jump. "Saleon is gone! Vanished to the other side of the galaxy, most likely. Not only would they not let me have him shot down, but now I have to write reports on why he _got away!"_

"You'll get him, sir," Nalrad said carefully, "He'll surface somewhere."

"Yes, I'm sure he will, and I'll be swimming in so much paperwork that I won't have to the time to go and kill the bastard! Spectacular."

The youngster fell silent, wisely letting his superior seethe and fume without interruption. Garrus knew that he had to let this go; this obsession with his failure to capture the salarian 'doctor.' And yet it played on his mind at all hours, mocking his weakness. It pointed out how, if he'd been faster dealing with Saleon's goons, if he'd had the intelligence to realise the hideout's location sooner, maybe he could have stopped him escaping with his cargo of helpless down-and-outs that he used for his sick trade. How he might have been able to at least spare them that misery and torture if C-Sec had allowed him to order the salarian shot down.

Instead, Dr. Saleon had been allowed to cruise away from the Citadel unopposed, as if he were little more than a simple tourist. Free, with all his experimentees. Boiling with rage, Garrus smashed a fist down on one of the datapads. It shattered, emitting bright sparks and sizzling before it went dark.

"Sir?" Nalrad looked alarmed. His expression softened Garrus' anger. The youngster had seen enough of his superior's wild moodswings.

"Sorry," he muttered, "I just hate – _hate _ – letting them get away." Sighing, he dumped himself back in his seat and prepared himself to slog through his work. Maybe he'd have a few minutes to clear his head in the quiet of the Presidium before he had to return to his apartment down on Tayseri Ward.

He was saved by an urgent chirp from his omni-tool. A high priority message from C-Sec. Surprised, he prodded the hologram for his inbox and was baffled to find it was from Chief Ardess. A turian veteran of countless dangerous assignments and practically a legend in lower C-Sec circles, Ardess was the senior officer for Zakera Ward's Industrial Espionage Division. It was his job to keep the various species' businesses on the Ward from each others' throats – a thankless, unenviable task, but one Ardess reportedly performed with unmatched skill and without complaint. So what did he want with Garrus, whose methods were – he had to admit – often far from discreet?

"Officer Vakarian,

I have a delicate matter that requires your attention. Your unique experience with salarian criminal cartels will be an invaluable asset in an investigation I am conducting. It is also necessary that I seek assistance from someone outside of my own team, unrecognised as a regular Zakera face.

Please report immediately to the seventy-third floor of the Vorbel Museum of Science and Technology at the far end of Zakera Ward. We can discuss further details there.

Chief Ardess Orm'ust."

**ii.**

Zakera Ward was its usual, sleepless self as Garrus swept along above its bustling promenades and glittering skyscrapers in a public skycar. Traffic was thick, bright red and white lights surging in every direction through the light of the Widow star. Neon signs of all colours beamed out from the sides and roofs of buildings; commercial advertising, political slogans, the occasional hanar message regarding the Enkindlers. Sometimes the grinning faces of popular celebrities and hopeful politicians adorned hovering screens on the main thoroughfares. Idly, Garrus wondered if there was an election coming up soon.

The smooth ride and the swish of constant traffic had lulled Garrus into a doze by the time the skycar tipped downwards to approach his destination. The Vorbel Museum was impossible to miss; housed in an immense skyscraper the twisting shape of a DNA strand; it commanded the skyline of what was otherwise an unassuming residential area. Even those gigantic apartment buildings only reached half its' height.

The skycar glided down to one of the myriad small docking ports on the side of the building, inserted itself and came to a steady halt as the bay doors slid closed behind. Like all of the high buildings on the Wards, the Vorbel Museum was well above the air envelope and thus sealed against vacuum. Garrus waited impatiently as the bay was filled with air and then climbed out of the skycar, heading straight for the elevator ahead of him, threading his way through the many other parked vehicles.

"Welcome to the Vorbel Museum of Science and Technology, visitor!" a synthetic voice greeted him cheerfully as he stepped inside, "The Citadel's premier location for the display and study of both modern and ancient technology in the galaxy! You are most welcome."

Garrus hammered the button for the seventy-third floor.

"Please remember, visitor, that you are expected to conduct yourself agreeably and with respect for others. Please do not touch any exhibit that is not displayed as interactive. Please do not enter the restricted curator floors. Please do not…"

He tuned out the tinkling voice of the VI and leaned his head back against the metal wall. Why couldn't they put something more interesting in elevators, like galactic news broadcasts or asari music?

When he stepped out into the bright spaciousness of the seventy-third floor, he was surprised at the crowds; dozens upon dozens of visitors churned their way among the exhibits, chattering animatedly, climbing sets of delicate, swirling staircases and leaning over balconies suspended above the larger displays. Some stood gazing out of the long windows at the activity of the city below. There were clusters of excited salarians comparing theories, volus couples wandering hand in hand, the odd human science enthusiast poring over notes; even a gathering of elcor studying what looked like ancient Dekuunian agriculture equipment. The noise of conversation was overwhelming.

Garrus wandered, looking for Chief Ardess, who he felt sure would be dressed in civilian clothes like himself so as not to draw attention. He excused his way through a throng of asari and scaled one of the fragile-looking staircases to get some height, but he had to wait for a space at the balcony – a family of turians were taking snapshots of their younglings with the expanse of the museum behind. The excitable children almost crashed into Garrus' knees as they giggled their way down the stairs after their parents.

Spotting the C-Sec Chief among the hordes of tourists was no easy task. Perhaps Ardess was testing him, seeing if he had the wherewithal to spot him in the hubbub. Or perhaps he hadn't expected it to be so busy. Either way-

A heavy hand fell on Garrus' shoulder and he turned. The harsh grey wedge of Ardess' face scowled down at him, daubed as it was with the stark symbol of Ran'shar Colony. His sharp fringe looked like a craggy skyline of cliffs, his mandibles rugged flanks to a teeth-filled chasm. Garrus had never met him in person before. He suppressed a shudder.

"I see you've become acquainted with the local wildlife," the Chief said dryly, leaning against the railing.

"Yes sir. Is it always like this?"

"Almost always. Perfect for business; legitimate or otherwise." He squinted down at the streams of visitors, winding their way between the exhibits. "Amazing that so much old junk can draw so many gawking people."

"You're not interested in history, sir?" Garrus asked. He tried to make it sound neutral. Ardess was making him nervous.

"I'm a forward thinker, Vakarian. A forward-actor. That's why I work in C-Sec, to improve the Citadel for future generations. A red sand dealer taken down today is one less to tempt the weak and easily-influenced tomorrow."

Garrus stifled the urge to roll his eyes. If there was one thing he had no patience for, it was noble speeches. Instead, he said; "I understand, sir."

"People are content to pretend that crime doesn't affect them, that it's safe enough to let the corporations do battle behind closed doors and murder each other in secret. But eventually, that sort of deliberate ignorance comes back to haunt you. Look at the humans and the First Contact War. Blood, violence and death… but two generations later and we've welcoming them onto the Citadel and given them an embassy! I don't trust them; they're too ambitious. If we don't keep an eye on them, we'll suddenly find they're on the Council, in C-Sec, colonising every planet from here to the Traverse… And all the human-apologists will be muttering and wondering how it happened. So no, Vakarian, I am not interested in history. I am focusing on the now, to keep the Citadel – _our_ Citadel – free of corruption."

Garrus stared at his superior, seeing him in an entirely new light. He knew that some of the old hands in C-Sec were suspicious of the humans, wary of their rapid expansion, but this sounded like outright bigotry. He tried to change the subject.

"Sir, about why you called me here…?"

"Ah, yes. I'll get right to the point. I've been following an unpleasant situation that's been developing down here in Zakera. Two long-established volus companies have, for one reason or another, decided that they want to batter foreheads. It may be simply business, or something more personal. Either way, it doesn't matter. They've been posturing and threatening each other for the past few months; paying to have a few commercial outlets trashed by thugs, that sort of nonsense. Nothing upscale, as industrial crime goes." Ardess took a deep breath and grimaced. "Until two days ago, when two of the board members of 'Irune Solutions' were found murdered in their penthouses."

"An escalation," Garrus said flatly.

"Precisely. Someone used a pistol at close range to puncture their suits and then left them to suffocate. Brutal – unnecessary suffering. I've no time for the business elite, but this was just… cold."

"It seems unlikely that another volus could get up so close undetected," Garrus interrupted. "So you think the other company hired a hit?"

"Certain of it. But I've no idea who would be stupid – or confident – enough to perform wet work on the Citadel. And I can't risk questioning the suspect company – Outreach Business Aids – for fear that I'll be recognised and it'll send the hitman underground. The volus hiring him aren't going anywhere – they're a problem that can be dealt with at leisure. But I want that assassin."

"I see where I come in," Garrus said. He watched as a gaggle of humans with asari on their arms passed beneath the balcony, chattering. "You want me to go hunting."

"Nobody knows you here. You're the perfect investigator. I want you to lean on Outreach. Work the angles. Tell them you're looking to employ the assassin yourself if you must. But get me a lead."

"I can do that." He paused. "What if the volus won't talk?"

Ardess fixed Garrus with his dark eyes in an expressionless stare. "I've read your record, Vakarian. They'll talk."

"Yes sir."

"You start right now. Let me know when you've got something."

The rugged chief turned and strode away without another word, losing himself in the ever-moving clamour of tourists.

**iii.**

'Outreach Business Aids' turned out to be a far less gaudy building than the Museum. Nestled between residential complexes, it was a squat and unassuming affair, neat and soft-angled. There was nothing to indicate the enormous wealth that it undoubtedly commanded on behalf of the volus.

Garrus' skycar deposited him at the glass-covered guest level halfway up, where he was met by an asari receptionist who was all smiles and welcomes. The soft light of the building's interior accentuated her shapely figure. A deliberate selling tactic.

"Hello, sir! Welcome to Outreach Business Aids! How may I help you today?" Her voice was soothing and warm.

"Could you please tell me who runs this outlet of your company?" Garrus asked, as genially as he could manage. He had realised on the trip here that Ardess had unhelpfully told him almost nothing about those he was supposed to question. The offices themselves had not been difficult to locate, but otherwise he was going in blind.

"Of course, sir," the receptionist cooed, "We at Outreach are honoured to be employed by the highly-respected and experienced volus entrepreneur Hagny Gar. But his clan-brother Noran runs this particular administration."

"I see. And would it be possible to meet with this Noran?"

The receptionist shook her head. "I'm afraid he doesn't meet with the potential buyers, sir. Assuming, of course, you are one…?" She added hopefully.

"I think he'll make an exception for me," Garrus smiled. He played one of his cards that he'd planned on the way here. "My name is Risdel Kusax. I represent certain interested parties back on Palaven. We're in the business of omni-tool optimisation research, some work on weapons development… The company is expanding and we're looking for partners."

"I see." The asari frowned, obviously uncomfortable. "The problem is sir, I mean, I'm sure that Noran would be very interested in discussing it with you, but, well, the problem is…"

Despite the receptionist's stammering, Garrus already knew. Noran was expecting a backlash for the two rivals that had been killed. He probably thought himself a target, for either C-Sec or rival assassins. He wasn't meeting _anyone._

"I understand that he must be busy," Garrus said smoothly, "But if you'd just tell him that I'm here and why, perhaps he will reconsider?" More appropriately, perhaps greed would get the better of fear and prudence.

"Well… yes, there can't be any harm in that, now can there? If you'll excuse me, sir."

The receptionist retired to her desk and pushed a button. As she muttered, Garrus took in the wide hallways, adorned with paintings and holos of wide, sweeping vistas. Bland. Utilitarian. No visitors wandered; the only people he saw were asari, hurrying back and forth between offices.

"Mr. Kusax?" the receptionist called him, "Noran has asked to see you in his office. He recognises the importance of your visit. Please go up to the thirtieth floor. And… don't be alarmed by security, sir. The Wards can be a dangerous place."

That is very true, Garrus thought with grim amusement, as he rose up in the elevator. But dangerous for whom?

His dour satisfaction melted away as soon as the elevator door hissed open. Garrus found himself face to face with three LOKI-class security mechs, both with pistols trained on him, their facial displays glowing red. He lifted his hands slowly. This Noran really wasn't taking any chances.

"Is he armed?" the heavy voice of a volus demanded.

"Target is not carrying any standard or non-standard weapons," one of the mech's reported in its disconcertingly pleasant feminine voice.

"Very well, let him through."

The security mechs parted, their displays fading to neutral white. Garrus stepped between them into a shining, airy office with a vaulted ceiling and walls made mostly of glass. Luxurious volus furniture and soft rugs decorated the space. Outside, the traffic surged by unceasing.

"Welcome, Mr. Kusax," the volus called Noran said, waddling forward from a desk that looked far too large for him and stretching out a suit-claw. "A pleasure to make your-" he took a laboured breath "-acquaintance."

Garrus took the claw. "The pleasure is all mine."

Noran shuffled behind his desk, gesturing for his guest to take a seat opposite. Behind him, the skyscrapers outside cast long shadows across the office and the gleam of the traffic rebounded from the glass and metal. "So. Down to business," he said. "Whom do you represent?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to forgive me," Garrus smiled, "I haven't been entirely honest with you or your receptionist."

"I…see." Noran did not sound either annoyed or afraid. More disappointed. "You are not looking for business partners?"

"No."

"Yet you went to the trouble of seeking me out." He drew a heavy breath. "Please, elaborate."

"Two volus from Irune Solutions were found dead recently. Your rivals."

Noran sighed. "Yes, they were."

Garrus frowned. Noran sounded genuinely aggrieved. And then he noticed that the security mechs were moving quietly to flank him. He tensed, but kept his face outwardly calm and his voice composed.

"Before you decide to do something rash, let me continue. I've little interest in cutthroat business practices. Even less in legality. What intrigues me is which individual could be talented enough to murder two heavily-guarded board members inside their own penthouses. And how I could use them."

"Someone very-" Noran breathed, "-experienced, I'm sure."

"Someone expensive?"

"I wouldn't know."

"I think you might." Garrus gave him a broad smile and spread his hands. "Come now, surely we can come to some sort of agreement. All I want is a name. Then I'll leave you to your business."

"I have no idea-" Noran said nervously "-what you are talking about. But this sounds decidedly illicit. I want no part of it." He looked past Garrus to the mechs. "I think it's time you-" he sucked in a breath "-were asked to leave, Mr. Kusax."

"That would be a mistake," Garrus said, his serene, well-spoken façade beginning to falter. This was going downhill.

Noran said nothing, simply watched as the security mechs surrounded Garrus. He gritted his teeth as one of them pressed the cold muzzle of a pistol against his neck.

"Please accompany the security detail to the nearest exit," the mech intoned cheerfully. "You will not be harmed."

"I see our business is concluded," Garrus muttered, standing up slowly. The mech's pistol was hard in his back now.

As he turned as if to follow the mech's instructions, Garrus suddenly dodged sideways and back, grabbing the mech's spindly white arms. Almost like an organic reflex, it fired the pistol, burning a neat patch into one of the luxurious rugs. Without hesitating, Garrus wrenched the pistol free from the metal grasp and shot the other approaching synthetics, blasting the head from the first and sending the second sprawling across the office with three melted holes in its chest.

"What-" Noran cried in a panic, "What are you doing?"

"Please reconsider your aggressive-" the remaining mech said, and then was silenced by a point-blank shot to the faceplate. It clattered into a crumpled, sparking heap.

"Leave me alone!" Noran squealed, as Garrus advanced on him with the pistol. The volus was panting, clearly terrified, but with nowhere to go. He suddenly seemed to come to his senses and scrambled for a panic button on his display.

"Touch that and you'll be breathing oxygen like the rest of us," Garrus said coldly, "Right before you explode into a thousand pieces."

Noran's suit-claw froze halfway to the console. "Don't- don't kill me!"

"I'll think about it. Now tell me something useful. Where did you find that assassin? Who is he? I want a name, Noran!"

The volus' rotund body heaved as he groaned. "I don't know where he came from! We _didn't_ hire him to go after Irune Solutions!"

"You expect me to believe that? Your closest competitors found dead?"

"I know – I know what it looks like," Noran gasped, "But it's true! I had nothing to do with that."

"So who did?"

"I can't tell you any more!" Noran sobbed, "I can't! I'll be killed!"

The volus' fear and misery touched Garrus deep down, but he knew he had to remain cold if he was to get any more information.

"Killed? By who? Whoever hired the assassin? Colleagues of yours, maybe? Board members of Outreach who prefer more ruthless tactics?"

"No, no! Don't make me tell you, please!"

"I'm not going away until I know who hired him, Noran."

"Nobody hired him, you fool!" Noran moaned, "He hired _himself!"_

**iv.**

Garrus blinked slowly, trying to conceal his astonishment. His mind rushed through the possibilities. An assassin who hired _himself?_ What could be the point? Sport, perhaps? If so, he could be dealing with a sociopath rather than a simple businessman. That made things a lot more complicated.

"Noran, I don't understand," Garrus said, opting for a calmer, more ingratiating tone and lowering his weapon slightly, "Why would an assassin employ himself to kill _your_ competitors? That doesn't make any sense."

"He'll kill me," Noran whimpered, now rocking back and forth, "He likes it. He enjoys it. It's like _practice!"_

Garrus felt his stomach knot up at the volus' appalled words. He eased himself back into the visitor's chair and laid the pistol carefully on the desk. Noran watched him, still rocking, expression invisible.

"Listen," Garrus said, "_Listen,_ Noran. Sit down."

Noran toddled uncertainly back to his chair.

"I'm going to come clean with you in the hope that you'll be able to offer me something in return," Garrus continued. "I'm C-Sec, investigating the deaths of your rivals at Irune Solutions. I suspected there was an assassin, but I don't believe you or your board hired him."

"You-you don't?" Noran breathed, his voice still ragged from sobbing.

"No, I don't. I believe you're just as much a target as they were. But I don't know _why._" Garrus leaned forward. "I need to know everything you do about the assassin. C-Sec can protect you until he's apprehended." _Or gunned down. That would be better._

Noran took several labouring, steadying breaths. Beyond the glass walls and ceiling, the Ward's traffic continued to hum by relentlessly. Eventually, Noran began to explain in a flat voice.

"He – he came to my younger brother, Jorla, posing as a-" he took a breath, "as a potential investor. We both met him. But once we were in private, he told us he had an answer for our-" a heavy exhalation "- business contender problem." Noran's head dropped into his stubby arms. "He told us he would arrange for the 'disposal' of Irune Solution's entire board in exchange for an exorbitant amount of credits."

"But you refused?" Garrus prodded gently.

"No, _I_ refused." Noran spread his claws wide, for the moment more indignant than afraid, "I am an honest businessman, if such a thing exists." He panted for air. "I am ruthless, perhaps. Immoral in ways, yes. But I am not a murderer and I wouldn't hear of it." Noran sighed. "Jorla, on the other hand, was thrilled. He was about to shake on the deal when I overruled him as the senior member of the company."

"I take it the assassin wasn't pleased."

"He was furious. He declared that we no longer had a choice – he would murder Irune's board and we would pay him his credits, or-" Noran took a shuddering breath "-or he would start targeting us too."

Garrus leaned back. So it was worse than just a hobbyist assassin and worse than a cold-hearted entrepreneur of killing. It was a mixture of the two. Trying to maintain an outer façade of calm so as not to send Noran into a panic again, he framed his next question carefully.

"Noran, you met the assassin face to face. I need details. Species, appearance, mannerisms, clothing. Anything."

The volus squirmed a little, twirling his suit claws together uncomfortably and avoiding Garrus' gaze.

"You'll protect me?" Noran pleaded, "C-Sec will protect me?"

Garrus nodded. "To the best of our ability."

Noran paused, then nodded slowly. "He's a human. Short, stocky. Maybe middle-aged in their years? It's hard to tell with them."

Garrus clacked his mandibles in sympathy. Half the time, he himself had trouble pinpointing the ages of the visually and physically-versatile human residents of the station. It made investigations damned annoying.

"He was wearing light armour," Noran was saying, "Brown, yes. And he is hairless on top. Like an elcor." He took a deep breath, then leaned forward to impart something else. "He also-"

It was at that moment that Noran's round head disintegrated in a fountain of blood and brain and bone, coinciding with the distant crack of a rifle shot, the shattering of glass and the sudden hiss of air escaping an exosuit.

For a split second, Garrus was frozen, the shockingly sudden, brutal death having not made its impact. Then, coming to his senses, he threw himself bodily beneath the dead volus' desk just as another sharp crack broadcast the arrival of another slug that thrummed by overhead. Garrus looked down at himself. He was covered in blood.

No more shots came. That wasn't surprising. The assassin would be waiting for him to show himself and he would only wait a short while before making his escape from the inevitable C-Sec convergence. Adrenaline pumping and furious as he was, Garrus toyed with the idea of taking a potshot at the sniper. He dismissed it almost immediately as a foolhardy plan. The assassin would undoubtedly be far out of range and was obviously a skilled professional; Garrus would be dead before his head and shoulders were above the desk.

No. Gallingly, he had to simply wait until C-Sec arrived, fuming that the assassin had the nerve to execute Noran Gar _while_ he was questioning him, and then to try to murder Garrus himself! This human obviously had an ego the size of the Widow star. But this wouldn't go unanswered. The assassin didn't know that his new C-Sec hunter had a description. Versatile race or not, he'd run this arrogant human into the ground and put a superheated slug in his skull. He'd do it for poor, nervous Noran and those other two hapless businessmen.

Garrus was still huddled behind the desk when a swarm of C-Sec skycars hurtled overhead, their flashing lights creating a stark, macabre nightclub effect on the blood-soaked floor of Noran's office. Garrus waited until he'd heard them lower down onto the landing pads of several surrounding buildings and then stood cautiously. He stood there in angry silence, staring down at the gruesome remains. Blood was still dripping steadily from the edge of the desk into a slowly spreading pool. Garrus squinted at the distant rooftops beyond the glass. Dark specks that were C-Sec officers were fanning out across them and the blur of civilian traffic was moving ceaselessly in all directions. Bright lights gleamed serenely all over the urban sprawl as if nothing had happened. There was no sign of his attacker.

Turning, he took in the urgent figure of Ardess, hurrying across the office towards him. The Chief's wiry muscles were pumping; his scarred face creased in a scowl and a pistol in one hand.

"What happened? What in the name of all the ancestors did you _do,_ Garrus?" the older turian exclaimed as he arrived, his mandibles working. He holstered his weapon and stared at the deflated body of the volus, his hands balling into fists, "Emergency calls are off the chart over this! I thought I said I wanted this to be a quiet investigation. That's _precisely _why I brought you in!"

"I was hoping for that too, sir," Garrus said neutrally, gritting his teeth. "I assure you, I wasn't expecting such a violent response to our enquiries." _That's right, Garrus. Throw the word 'our' in there. Share the blame._

"And yet you've been on the case less than two hours and now we've got a sniper on the loose in the Ward!" Ardess gestured sharply to the C-Sec skycars flitting overhead and setting down nearby. "I guarantee my grunts won't find a thing out there. Your assassin's too professional."

'_Your?'_ thought Garrus,_ Ah, I understand, Ardess. Prepping me to be your scapegoat in case this gets even worse._

Instead of voicing that, he said; "He must have been watching the building. But he took time to act – I had a long conversation with Noran Gar before he killed him."

Ardess shrugged as if that were inconsequential. He sighed. "Anything useful?"

"A description. Human, short and well-built, bald and favouring light armour in a shade of brown. And likely mentally unstable."

"Why do you say that?" Ardess' brow furrowed, making his face even craggier.

"Neither volus company hired him. He offered his services to Outreach and when they refused, said he'd do it anyway and force them to pay him."

"So we've got a crazy. And a damned human at that. Plus, thanks to this shambles, it'll be all over the extranet in an hour. There'll be panic and hysteria. This just gets better."

"Crazy, but skilled, sir. If I'd have been a split-second slower, I'd be draped over that desk with Gar."

Ardess nodded distractedly, clearly running through mental options. "Any suggestion as to where the pinkskin will strike next?"

Garrus winced at the racial slur, but said; "Noran's brother Jorla was apparently _much_ more inclined to accept the assassin's services until he was reined in. If the assassin's expecting a payday, it's from Jorla that it's going to come."

"But not until the job's complete," Ardess growled, following Garrus' train of thought. His eyes narrowed. "He's going after the rest of Irune Solutions, then he'll try to extort Jorla-"

"-Using Noran here as an example to intimidate him into handing over the credits," Garrus finished.

"Maybe not so crazy after all," Ardess muttered with what might have been grudging respect. For a second, the old warhorse's shoulders slumped, but just as quickly he was his usual sharp-edged self again. He gestured to Noran. "Let's leave this poor bastard to the forensic team, Vakarian. I need you in a skycar with a list of Irune Solution's board members within five minutes if we're to stand a chance of ending this spree."

Garrus nodded and followed the Chief to the elevator in silence. As Ardess pressed the button for the lower floors, he eyed the drying rivulets of blood on Garrus' blue armour. His stony mandibles twitched.

"And for ancestor's sake, wipe yourself down on the way!"

**v.**

Piloting the unmarked skycar manually, Garrus made a surreptitious sweep of the metropolis surrounding the prestigious complex where Irune Solutions' board members kept their penthouses. A convoy of brown delivery trucks was descending upon a tradesman's landing pad at a lofty shopping mall nearby. There was bustling activity at a modest vehicle dealership, with new and old skycars and vans coming and going through the mass effect field that maintained the air envelope, salesmen accosting their customers amongst the shine of freshly-painted bodywork. Some way below, a bulky lorry was wending its lumbering way between the buildings, the lighter traffic stalled and honking impatiently at the delay.

Amongst the penthouses, however, there was little activity. Now and then, a private limousine would lift off, or a minibus full of smartly-dressed servants would eject its passengers onto a balcony. It looked like business as usual. But Garrus was nervous. Ardess had C-Sec snipers planted in the surrounding buildings and he'd concealed them well, along with providing a personal escort of three good men… but Garrus was acutely aware of the assassin's skill.

Carefully, he manoeuvred the skycar down through the air envelope towards the pad he knew was attached to the abode of one Dabny Lor – the treasurer of Irune Solutions – alert for any sudden movement. Lor would surely have increased his security. Yet no mechs burst from the glass doors, nor was he accosted by any guards. With a sinking feeling, he popped the canopy on the skycar and levered himself out.

"_Stay behind me and alert,"_ Garrus told his three operatives silently with hand gestures. Kovalyov rifles unlimbered, they crept along behind him; two turians and an asari. The asari was for biotic support – Ardess wasn't taking any chances.

As they neared the opulent suite, Garrus noticed that one of the doors was ajar and swore to himself. It was likely he'd been minutes too late.

Cautiously, Garrus shouldered his way in, levelling his weapon. The interior was even more extravagant than he had expected, with delicate asari furniture and sculptures, colourful human art on the walls, rich and luxurious volus rugs and even a pressure chamber that doubled as a study so that the resident could enjoy some comfort while suitless in his own atmosphere. Garrus gagged as he neared the room; it reeked of ammonia. Holding his breath, he peered inside, but it was empty but for its chair and computer. In fact, the entire apartment seemed to be empty, as if the owner had simply upped and left without packing. And that was entirely possible.

"What're you seeing, Vakarian?" Ardess' gravely tone demanded over his comms unit.

"Nothing, sir. Door was open, but no sign of struggle. No sign of Dabny Lor, either."

"Very well. Move into the hallway and the next suite. The bastard _has _to be here."

Garrus wasn't quite so sure. Maybe the assassin had tired of murdering volus and gone straight for his payday from Jorla Gar. Even so, he eased his way out into the more clinical silver of the hallway and padded silently along until he found another of the numbers he'd memorised; penthouse forty-seven, a blue display glowing up at him from beside the door. This one belonged to Ordla Mon, Irune Solution's Public Relations Manager.

Again, it was unlocked.

His sense of foreboding deepening, Garrus gestured to his operatives that they should press up against the wall on either side of the door and that one should remain on guard there.

"_Rules of engagement?"_ the asari signed to him, her dark blue brow furrowed.

"_If it's human, shoot it," _Garrus signalled. Then he added; _"Stasis field first, if it's not."_

He glanced at the tense faces around him to make sure they were ready, took a slow breath and then pushed a digit onto the hologram. The door hissed open. It revealed another expansive, wealthy dwelling that was almost cluttered with absurdly expensive works of galactic art. It also seemed empty. Slipping inside, Garrus began another systematic search of the rooms, rifle held before him in both hands. He was annoyed to note that it was shaking slightly. This damned assassin was getting to him. More sharply than he intended, he signed to the asari to investigate the wide lounge and the turian to examine the pressurised study. He assigned himself to a set of stairs that seemed far too flimsy for a volus' bulk and the wide platform of various bedrooms and closets that they led to.

It was as he was investigating the third upstairs bedroom that he found the lifeless body of whom he assumed to be Ordla Mon.

"Chief," Garrus whispered into his comms, "I've got a body."

Ardess swore vehemently. "Who?"

"Ordla Mon, I think. It's his apartment."

The volus businessman could have been sleeping, lying face up on the low bed as he was, his suit claws crossed in front of him. It wasn't unusual for volus to sleep in their exosuits when off-planet. They were used to it. But Ordla Mon was not asleep. He was resting in a sticky pool of blood that had made the sheets around him sodden and his suit was slack around his rotund form – a tiny hole in the chest hissed steadily with escaping atmosphere.

Garrus stared at the hole, watching the yellowish-brown gas seeping into a curling smoke, understanding what it meant. Ordla Mon had only been murdered only minutes before. Forcing himself to remain calm, Garrus eased his way back to the top of the stairs.

"All operatives, on me," he hissed to his armed escort. There was no chirp of affirmation and no movement. Garrus crouched near the swooping, asari-design railings and swore to himself. He risked a glance down into the main room and saw nobody.

"Vakarian, what's going on?" the Chief's rough voice demanded.

Garrus didn't reply, because a figure had just moved into view. It was his asari, walking as if in a daze, rifle discarded and her hands clawing uselessly at her throat, trying to stem the flow of purple blood that was pumping between her fingers and sheeting down her armour. As Garrus watched helplessly, she sank to her knees and toppled sideways, her arms going limp. A purple stain spread out into the surrounding carpet.

From inside the pressurised study there was a gurgling cry and a thump, and Garrus knew that the turian was dead too. He fought his mounting panic. What about the one he had left at the door? The assassin was in the study; he could risk a rush for the hallway and then the two of them would have the human trapped inside. But then he saw the dark blue liquid spattered across the penthouse foyer and knew it was too late for that. He was alone.

"Chief," he muttered into his comms, watching the study doorway, "I'm three beings down. Send your backup team in, _now._" There was no reply. "Chief? I need support immediately. _Chief?"_

The words died on his tongue as a figure stepped into view from inside Mon's pressurised study, planting itself in the centre of the apartment with an assured arrogance.

"Officer Vakarian," the figure said smoothly. "I'm sorry, but your superior cannot hear you." He held up an omni-tool. "I've severed communications for the time being."

Garrus tightened his grip around the trigger. He tried to turn furtively so that he had a clearer shot. "How do you know who I am?"

"You're quite the persistent cop," the assassin said in a voice with all the consistency of melting steel, not quite answering the question, "Especially considering the usual corrupt ineptitude that C-Sec has turned into such an art form."

The assassin was exactly as the ill-fated Noran Gar had described; a stocky barrel of a human male with a lump of a face. It was as if someone had carelessly shoved a handful of clay onto his shoulders and then carved eyeholes and a jagged rip of a mouth. The brown eyes stared out malevolently from their sunken pits. Garrus was no expert on human emotion, but it seemed to him that those eyes were empty of anything remotely close to it.

"Did Ordla Mon even see you coming?" Garrus asked coldly. Eventually Ardess would realise something was amiss. If he could keep the assassin talking until then, the backup team would be upon them in moments.

The artificial light reflected from the human's bald pate as he bowed his head and shook with mirth.

"A volus wouldn't see a garbage scow in front of its face," he said, flashing a wide grin. A cruel grin. "I daresay it realised something was amiss once it began suffocating. And when it saw I was holding it down."

Garrus was appalled. "_It?_ Ordla Mon was a sentient being! A _person."_

"No!" The human snarled suddenly, and his fists clenched. Something feral flickered in those hollow eyes, "It was an _alien._ Just like you. An alien. And aliens can't be people."

"So that's what this is about?" Garrus said, "Some kind of cleansing?"

The assassin didn't answer. Garrus watched him warily, waiting for the inevitable attack. But the human just stood there quite comfortably in his mud-brown armour, composed now after his outburst. He prodded idly at the dead asari with one foot, looking as unruffled as if he were perusing an exhibit at an art gallery. What troubled Garrus the most was that he couldn't see a weapon. Beyond the panoramic windows of the apartment, a slew of limousines slipped gracefully past.

The assassin smiled thinly. "My name is Khan."

"I don't need to know your name," Garrus retorted shortly.

The smile widened. "You mean that you, the honourable cop, the dutiful _turian-_" he pronounced it like a swearword "-aren't going to try to arrest me?"

"I don't know," Garrus grated, staring down at him, "Would you come quietly?"

"Maybe. For a human. But never for a filthy alien."

Garrus allowed himself a small smile. "Then no. I'll put a slug between those tiny, dead eyes of yours and consider my duty fulfilled."

Khan nodded slowly at this, as if he were seriously considering the proposal. Garrus tried to ease himself sideways.

Abruptly, with a speed that was frightening considering his bulk, the assassin levered out a shotgun from a concealed spine holster and threw himself sideways. Garrus was already ducking and rolling across the bedroom platform as the first blast ripped through the delicate railings, shattering them into white-hot shards of metal. As the fragments windmilled through the air and seared neat slivers from his armour, Garrus realised that Khan was using incendiary ammunition. He swore as he came to a stop behind the shelter of the bed. He would have to end this confrontation quickly, or risk the lavish penthouse suite becoming a raging inferno.

A quick glance over the bedspread earned him another flood of molten slugs. They shredded into the luxurious fabric and the motionless legs of Ordla Mon, narrowing missing Garrus' head-fringe. The material instantly set alight and Garrus returned fire through the hungry, leaping flames.

"Hiding behind a dead volus, turian?" Came the mocking voice that told him he'd missed.

Garrus decided to take a gamble. Before Khan could properly ascend the top of the stairs, he threw himself out from cover, launching himself up and over the railing. He twisted at the waist to fire another volley of shots in the assassin's direction. He fell through the brightly lit space – too fast to see much more of his target than a blur – catching a glimpse of the Ward through the vast panoramic window. He impacted heavily with a salarian-stitch rug and almost lost his grip on the rifle. Bile rose in his throat as he came face to face with the lifeless eyes of his asari colleague. Winded, he forced himself to scramble behind a pillar where he crouched, mandibles working, neck muscles straining, panting for breath. He leant out and delivered another barrage of shots for good measure. Where the hell were Ardess' men? Hadn't the Chief realised there was a problem? He peered out. The bed was fully ablaze now, the flames flicking up in an orange-yellow dance and casting an eerie glow on the beige walls. Ordla Mon's body burned within. It looked dark, black and small.

Garrus risked a glance the other way. A mistake. A fiery swarm of white-hot slugs flashed across the room and buried themselves into his neck and shoulder, melting instantaneously through the armour layer and scorching his skin in a wave of agony. Almost falling, he couldn't help the scream that issued from his mouth.

"Careless, Vakarian," Khan's liquid tone chided him. There was a smile in the voice. "A few wild potshots like that aren't going to slow me down."

Garrus clamped a hand over his blistering throat, seething with pain and anger.

"C-Sec will be here in minutes, you _drak'nash!"_ He managed to gasp.

"Not before your death and my exit," Khan said matter-of-factly. His voice was closer and Garrus heard the faint creak of his armour as he approached. Squinting through a haze of pain, Garrus cast about desperately for some kind of option. His gaze alighting on the window, he remembered Ardess' snipers.

"Keep walking and you'll have a new hole in your face," Garrus called with much more bravado than he felt. "There's a C-Sec sniper overlooking every apartment. They have your description. If you get in shot, they won't hesitate."

"I don't believe you," Khan sneered, but his advance had stopped.

Sensing the assassin's momentary hesitation, Garrus shoved the muzzle of his pistol around the edge of the pillar and squeezed the trigger. A flurry of shots hissed out and he was rewarded with a pained human grunt. But it was followed immediately by a harsh, barking laugh that was devoid of sanity.

"You don't understand at all, turian," Khan cackled. "You think this is just about money? Or _fun?" _There was a pause. "Well, I'll admit, part of it is about the fun… but there's _much_ more to it than that."

"For instance?" Garrus demanded. The pain was subsiding into a singed ache.

Khan replied with another coarse laugh. "Ah. This is the part where I confess to my myriad crimes just before the righteous knight slays me heroically?"

Garrus didn't understand the human idiom, but answered with a couple of shots that shattered something and then threw himself towards the relative safety of a curving green sofa that hugged the window, scrambling behind it just as the return fire surged over his head and into the wall, leaving a heat haze behind.

"Stop running, Vakarian," Khan snapped. Garrus guessed from his voice that he was behind the open-plan kitchen counter at the far end of the room. "I'm becoming bored. I won't make it hurt like I did for the volus…"

"Why don't you step out in full view of this window and let my good friend liberate you of your head?" Garrus jeered, "You're a sniper, aren't you? Maybe you could trade techniques…it seems like you need the practice."

"You're mouthy for a dead alien, I'll give you that," Khan spat and for the first time, his voice betrayed an angry uncertainty. Garrus decided to push those buttons some more. No more dodging and weaving. It was time to turn the tables.

"It's true, isn't it?" he crowed, "You're quite the _amateur_ killer. Even I wouldn't have missed that enormous target I provided for you back at Outreach. A skilled assassin would have killed me there…" As he spoke, Garrus crouch-shuffled along the narrow space between the sofa and the window. "As it is, you've now missed me _twice_ and grazed me only once. And with a shotgun, too. Is there a problem, Khan? Human years catching up? You're not young any more. Having trouble murdering a poor, mediocre turian peacekeeper? What a pity."

"Shut up!" Khan fumed. "Filthy alien!"

"Oh, but could it be that? Is that the issue here? That the deadly human assassin might actually be _inferior _to the _alien?"_

With a cry of rage that Garrus was counting on, Khan let loose a vicious barrage of shotgun blasts, shattering the window into a million glinting, spinning splinters in a deafening roar of sound. But Garrus was ready. The superheated streams from Khan's shots had pinpointed him perfectly in his mind's eye. While the shattered glass was still swirling, Garrus leaned over the sofa and squeezed off seven shots in quick succession – directly at where he knew the assassin's centre mass would be.

The dull, wet thump of slugs impacting flesh was a pathetically small sound after the bellow of the shotgun. The only other noise was the flap and howl of the wind as it scythed into the apartment from the mass effect envelope outside.

Garrus watched impassively as the assassin stepped backwards awkwardly, gazing down in bemusement at the gently-steaming holes in the breastplate of his armour. One was already beginning to trickle blood. The shotgun clattered from his hand and he tried to crack a ragged smile, but then sat down abruptly.

Cautiously, Garrus approached him, pausing only to kick the shotgun well out of reach. Khan was even more cruel-looking up close; those brown eyes regarded him as emptily as ever, but his mouth was twisted with something close to amusement.

"Never…could control my temper," the assassin wheezed.

Garrus pressed the muzzle of his pistol into Khan's fleshy forehead. "What did you mean there's more to this than money and fun?" he demanded.

Khan crossed his eyes to stare at the weapon and grinned more widely. Then he coughed and blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. "Politics," he said with difficulty.

"Politics? Explain!"

Khan just looked at him with that infuriating smirk. Garrus reached out and took hold of the assassin's throat and shook him.

"Tell me!" He raged, but the assassin just shook his head.

The brown eyes rolled back and the body sagged in his grip. Disgusted and furious, Garrus thrust the man away from himself and kicked him viciously. It took him a few moments to remember where to feel on a human for the pulse. He pressed one digit against Khan's neck. Nothing.

Garrus swore and straightened. The murderer was dead and he had survived. He should have felt elated. Instead he felt the hollow nausea of defeat. Three C-Sec operatives were dead. Ordla Mon was dead. The assassin had _known_ something. There was something deeper than this. And now there was no lead as to what it was. Jaded, Garrus turned his back on the body and stumped to the open hole that had been Ordla Mon's panoramic window, trying to take comfort in the breeze against his throbbing wounds.

He was still standing there when the penthouse door hissed open and Ardess stumped in, flanked by a heavily-armed escort. Without turning, Garrus wondered idly what had taken them so long. Then again, he reasoned, the entire battle in the apartment had probably taken less than ten minutes.

"Garrus?" the Chief called uncertainly, "Garrus, we came as soon as comms went dark."

"The assassin's dead," Garrus said flatly. He finally turned. The armed escort had fanned out all over the room, checking the bodies. One was putting out the upstairs fire. Ardess was crouched over the asari, shaking his ragged head. The Chief reached out and closed her eyes. As Garrus watched, he stood and went over to Khan's body, staring down at it. Abruptly, he aimed his pistol and put a shot into its forehead with a damp, resounding thump. The head bounced off the tiles.

"A messy end to a messy business," Ardess said darkly.

"Actually, sir, I doubt this is the end of it."

The Chief spun at that, wide-eyed. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think the human was a simple extortionist, as we were led to believe," Garrus said with a sigh. "Before he died, he said there was more to this, and said 'politics' before he died."

"Politics? Oh, that's the absolute _last_ thing we need." Ardess pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, then looked up with a frown, "But that doesn't even make sense. What possible political goal is there from killing volus businessmen?" He answered his own question. "Destabilising the economy, perhaps…"

"Two companies would hardly make a dent, sir."

Ardess nodded. "Then why?"

Garrus shrugged. "I don't know. I tried to make him talk but he died before I could get anything else." Suddenly exhausted, Garrus slumped on the green sofa and let his rifle fall onto the cushions. "He hated aliens."

Ardess eyed him with an unreadable expression.

Eventually the Chief said; "You did well, Vakarian."

"Thank you, sir."

"We'll analyse the bastard's omni-tool. If he really had political affiliations, we'll work them out. But I've got an inkling myself."

Garrus looked at his superior quizzically. "An inkling?"

Ardess nodded. "Terra Firma."

Terra Firma. The human supremacist movement. A relative newcomer in the political arena. Their manifesto was simple – humans first, in all things. But they had never escalated to violence, open or otherwise. Garrus doubted they were anything more than talk. But the assassin was human and loathed aliens. Who else would a human-centric group employ?

Garrus struggled to his feet. "I'll go question Zakera's local office."

But Ardess was motioning him to slow down. "No, Vakarian. You need rest. You've _earned_ some rest. Go back home. See to those burns. I'll send some grunts to shake down Terra Firma and brief you with the findings in six hours."

Garrus nodded and with difficulty, stumbled from the blood-soaked room.

**vi.**

Garrus slept dreamlessly. It was so deep a sleep that his communicator only stirred him on its eighth and most shrill chirp. Groggily, he activated it and said; "Vakarian."

"Officer Vakarian, this is C-Sec Control."

The next words he heard jarred him fully into stunned wakefulness.

"I'm afraid we have some terrible news. Chief Ardess Orm'ust has been found dead. _Assassinated." _

**_To Be Continued in; "The C-Sec Reports: Hardline Diplomacy."_**


End file.
